


Matthiola

by izayoi_no_mikoto



Category: Silver Diamond
Genre: Flowers, Gen, Introspection, Nonnies Made Me Do It, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2019-01-05 14:35:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12191802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izayoi_no_mikoto/pseuds/izayoi_no_mikoto
Summary: Rakan is satisfied with his life.





	Matthiola

Rakan never gets sick of his garden.  He never gets sick of spraying water over bushes, of digging his hands into soil, of watching flowers grow for him.  He doesn't get sick of giving flowers to other people, either, of watching their eyes light up as they gently stroke the leaves or bury their noses in the petals.  Admittedly, he does sometimes get a bit sick of people joking about him being the flower boy, but he accepts the ribbing in good nature, or at least he tries, and it's a small price to pay for the glorious riot of color that fills his backyard.  
  
He's always had a green thumb.  Sometimes he wonders if it has something to do with the way he came tumbling into this garden as a baby; perhaps only the blossoms here respond to his touch, and flowers in any other garden or greenhouse would refuse to bloom for him.  But even if that's the case, he's grateful for what he has.  He's happy here, living in the house he's grown up in.  He's happy attending a normal school, buying food from normal shops, hanging out with normal friends, planning for a normal future.  If the flowers in this garden grow a bit more beautifully than anywhere else, well, that's just the right amount of unusual for his taste.  
  
So when Rakan snips some irises or lilies and wraps them up in a bouquet, he only concerns himself with the flowers–-how well they've grown, how deep their color, how long they'll last before they begin to wither.  He doesn't ponder too deeply about why he has such a fine touch for plants or why there is no flower that will not grow for him.  He doesn't wonder if there's something particularly strange about his affinity for all that is green, and he doesn't yearn for anything other than the normal life he has.  
  
( _There's got to be something more than this_ , some insidious, traitorous part of him whispers, deceptively quiet for the way it burns like a wildfire within him.  He quashes it down, because his flowers are beautiful and he doesn't need anything else, but it burns there within him, sullenly refusing to flicker out, and it isn't until a strange man comes tumbling into his garden that he realizes that maybe, that little voice was right.)

**Author's Note:**

> In the Japanese flower language, the matthiola means "satisfaction."
> 
> It can also mean "bonds of love," "gazing toward the future," and "loyalty in the face of adversity."
> 
> (Inspired by the prompt: 100 words of flowers)


End file.
